


The Emperor's Blade

by pipistrelle



Series: Armed and Armored [2]
Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Csethiro's wonderful I love her, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Maia continues his Campaign for Letting Women Do What They Want, Slice of Life, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: Someone must fight the Emperor's battles. (And make the Empire's history.)
Relationships: Csethiro Ceredin/Maia Drazhar
Series: Armed and Armored [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807447
Comments: 31
Kudos: 157





	The Emperor's Blade

The first hint of trouble was Isheian, who met Maia and his second nohecharei at the outer grilles of the Alcethmeret. She clutched a tray of empty teacups, as though she had just come from clearing away luncheon, but the teacups rattled as her hands trembled, and her air of surprise at seeing him was entirely affected. Maia was certain she'd been waiting just behind the grille to beg the Emperor’s pardon and urgently request his presence in the Tortoise Room.

That boded ill. Csevet seemed to have picked up from Maia the habit of retreating to the Tortoise Room under stress. Whether he saw it as a haven too, or merely knew that Maia did, was not clear. But Maia’s heart began to grow heavy with dread as he climbed the stairs, and he felt a rising impulse to sprint, to find out at once what had happened, to know the worst. There were always so many things that could go wrong...

 _Had it been a true disaster, they’d have sent for thee_ , he told himself. _Whatever they need thee for, it wasn't dire enough to disrupt luncheon._

And to run or look fearful would have been an unkindness to the Alcethmeret servants. A handful of them were clustered on the landing outside the Tortoise Room, some craning shamelessly to listen with ears fully extended, others whispering among themselves. Kiru coughed, and they scattered. Maia was impressed by their skill in making even that motion look businesslike and efficient.

Inside the Tortoise Room, Maia found his family in a tableau that was half war council, half uproar. Csevet, secluded behind his desk in the corner as usual, was pale and writing seemingly as fast as his hand could move. Csethiro sat in an attitude of iron courtesy in one of the armchairs, evidently being lectured by Beshelar, who paced back and forth before her. In the other armchair Cala was slumped with his head in his hands. His spectacles had been pushed up into his disorderly hair, and his shoulders quivered with irrepressible sobs.

Maia froze in terror on the threshold. What could have happened? Treachery, sabotage? Was one of them ill? Why had he not been summoned?

Thankfully, before he could blurt out any of these questions, Cala drew in a mangled, snuffling wheeze and Maia realized that he was not sobbing. He was laughing so hard he had lost control of his breath and voice.

Maia relaxed, and felt Kiru and Telimezh relax behind him as curiosity took the place of terror. No one in the room had noticed him yet, which spoke to the depth of their preoccupation. He cleared his throat and said to no one in particular, “May we be so bold as to ask what has discomfited our household?”

Beshelar, so agitated that he could no longer suppress his deepest instincts, whirled and snapped to attention. Csevet set down his pen. 

“No,” Csethiro said. At a glare from Beshelar she added, “We are not at all discomfited. We hope Your Serenity had a pleasant luncheon with Arbelan Zhasanai.” She rose and favored him with a deep, perfect curtsey. 

“Yes, very pleasant,” Maia said. “And more serene than yours, we fear.”

She merely inclined her head. When it was plain she would tell him no more, he looked to Csevet.

In a tone of deep weariness, Csevet said, “Csethiro Drazharan Zhasan has challenged Dach’osmer Lachoris Istodel to a duel.”

“Ah.” Maia blinked. Wheels turned in his mind, sifting through the chaff of Court gossip. The name was familiar, but he could recall no face or family to go with it. “Why?”

“He insulted us grievously and beyond bearing,” Csethiro said calmly. “That is usually why one issues a challenge of honor. Is it not, Beshelar?”

Beshelar had not relaxed from his attitude of stiff attention, and did not seem likely to before Winternight. “Not,” he ground out between his teeth, “if one is an _Empress._ ”

“Empresses and Queen-Consorts fought on battlefields beside their husbands before the Conquest.”

Csevet stood and bowed. “We submit for the Empress’ consideration that society has changed in the last thousand years,” he said dryly, then proffered a sheet of parchment to Maia. “We have written a letter to Dach’osmer Istodel on Your Serenity’s behalf, retracting the challenge. An it please you, we will send it by pneumatic immediately. We think much of the damage can still be undone.”

At pointed looks from Beshelar and Csevet, Cala relinquished his chair to his Emperor and leaned against the wall. Maia sat and scanned Csevet's letter. It was very good. Csevet had used the cold tone of a displeased Emperor to masterful effect, so that what were, in fact, pleas for Dach’osmer Istodel to drop the matter looked instead like favors granted by the Emperor’s beneficent mercy. It needed only Edrehasivar’s seal.

The whole room watched him, but after two years on the throne of the Ethuveraz he had grown more used to that, and their collective attention no longer weighed on him like a burden of solid iron. He felt Csethiro’s gaze, though, even before he looked up to meet it. She still sat on the chair opposite, hands folded neatly in her lap, ears held at an angle that betokened calm alertness. Her face was a mask, white and closed, and from behind it she watched him with a familiar fire. He had once been guest of honor at a display of hunting techniques used in the bitter northern steppes; the final and most impressive had been a mountain eagle, sleek and deadly and beautiful, set free on a short flight for the Emperor's amusement. Her eyes, as she submitted again to the tresses and hood, had looked very much like Csethiro's did. 

He said, “We would know the insult that so provoked our Empress.”

“Serenity,” Beshelar protested.

Csethiro said, in a voice that could have frozen the Istandaärtha, “He proposed to _buy_ us. He implied that we have yet given you no heir because we find Your Serenity repulsive, and we might prefer to lie with _him_ instead. He said,” and now at last her ears flattened in anger, and the sneer of her lip reminded Maia again of that eagle’s sharp beak, “that he had enough goblin blood in him that the ruse might not be detected. He said this _in our hearing_.”

Maia’s stomach crawled, twisting both at his own feelings and the evidence of Csethiro’s. He put down Csevet’s letter, for he was aware suddenly that he was clutching it in both fists and would ruin the parchment.

“Serenity,” Csevet broke in anxiously, “Dach’osmer Istodel is a profoundly stupid man, but he is not chasing revethvoran. He was across the hall from Csethiro Zhasan, speaking to a few particular friends of his.”

Csethiro said, “We have excellent hearing.”

Maia mastered himself and looked back at Csevet. “Why would he say such a thing?”

“Empty talk. Bravado. He could have no real notion of -- intruding on Csethiro Zhasan, she is too well guarded, and he would suffer many torments when he was caught. Most likely it is part of a campaign to cast doubt on the legitimacy of the succession. No doubt he hopes for some favor from your enemies.”

It was all too easy to imagine. If Istodel claimed he had cuckolded the Emperor, others would think to before long. Maia foresaw with bitterness the arguments that would be held in the court over the color of the Emperor’s son or daughter, whether their skin was too white or too gray -- and all for a child that had not even been conceived!

Csethiro felt that bitterness and weariness with him, he saw. And perhaps she felt it more sharply, for it was against her the whispered charges would be laid. “We despise him,” she said. “We could not let it stand.”

Maia turned to Csevet again. “What position do the Istodada hold?”

Csevet shuffled papers, more out of mechanical habit than need for information, for he answered without looking at them. “Very little, Serenity. Their estate is in the far northwest of Thu-evressean and is engaged mostly in local farming. Dach’osmer Istodel is the family’s representative, and he but lately arrived. This seems to be the manner he chose to consolidate power in the court.”

“An unwise choice, we think,” Maia said. “Does the law of the Ethuveraz prohibit an empress from dueling a courtier?”

Beshelar exploded at this. “Serenity! You cannot possibly consider -- she could not!”

“There is no written law on the matter,” Csevet said. His tone said: _believe us, we looked._ “To the best of our knowledge, the situation has not arisen before.”

“She could be hurt!” cried Beshelar.

“That, we cannot allow.” Maia looked to Csethiro. “Can you defeat him?”

She grinned. “Serenity, we could carve him up like a Winternight pheasant, an it pleased you.”

“That won’t be necessary --”

“However, as Lieutenant Beshelar has been kind enough to take up our training with the sword, his opinion of our skill must be more accurate and well-informed than our own.”

All eyes turned to Beshelar; Csethiro’s demanding, Csevet’s despairing, Maia’s bemused. Cala, who had mostly regained control of himself, surrendered to laughter again with a helpless hiccough.

Beshelar turned white, then red, then a color that was very nearly green. In a strangled voice he said, “Serenity --”

“We desire nothing more than your complete and honest judgement,” Maia told him.

Beshelar’s neck muscles twitched, as though he had thought of looking around for help, but knew that there was none for him. Maia felt intense pity for him, but an equally intense curiosity. He had not known that Csethiro was actively training in the warrior’s way; it did not surprise him, and he did not begrudge her whatever happiness she chose to keep for herself out of the Empire’s eye (and out of his eye, for in some ways he _was_ the Empire). He only regretted that what she wished to be secret could be no longer. And he wanted deeply to know how she had convinced Beshelar to train her. 

At last, with some difficulty but immense dignity, Beshelar said, “It is our judgement that Csethiro Zhasan is quite capable of carving Dach’osmer Istodel up like a Winternight pheasant, if she were to disregard all propriety and sense to do so.”

“We do disregard it,” Csethiro said promptly. “Your Serenity may punish him, with relegation or something worse, or you may let his slander continue. Or you may let _us_ face him, and let him prove if he is half so brave on his own as with his friends. It is no different than what he would face had he insulted any other noble in the Untheileneise Court.”

“You desire this very much,” Maia said softly.

“We desire it as we desire peace and prosperity for Your Serenity’s reign,” Csethiro answered, with a controlled fiery passion that far outstripped the formality of her speech. She stood and approached him uninvited, a gross breach of propriety forgivable in no one but an Empress, and stopped at arm’s length. Low into the space between them she said, “I will not let the likes of _him_ hurt thee. Or any child we may have.”

Maia held out a hand to her and brought her close, as a falconer with an eagle on his wrist; but she did not deserve to be chained at his hand. “Thou’lt not hurt _him_?”

“Only his pride, I give thee my word. And half the court heard his speech and my challenge, so there’ll be no grounds to accuse thee of undue aggression or underhanded treachery. He’ll return to his estate in disgrace, the plans he made with those who oppose thee will be ruined, and his friends will not spread that kind of poison so freely again.”

“I dislike making enemies,” Maia sighed.

“So let me make them for thee, when they must be made.” Csethiro placed a hand on his arm and said quietly, “There is another reason. Kiru is thy nohecharo, the guardian of thy spirit. Might thee or thy heir one day have a nohecharo as guardian of thy body? Thy courtiers must grow accustomed to seeing a woman wield a sword.”

“Thou canst not be my nohecharo, thou’rt my Empress already,” Maia murmured. “Would’st be both?”

“Yes, and thy general, too. Thy sword and shield." She took his face in her hands and kissed his brow. Then she stepped back and curtsied again. “We thank Your Serenity from our deepest heart for the chance to serve you in this.”

Maia tried to contain his emotion, to keep his face still and serene, but he was sure that his cheeks were darkly flushed. He probably should have felt foolish, but he found himself smiling. “We are fortunate in our Empress. Csevet, what is the protocol for a duel? When can it be held with least disruption?”

Csevet began to move papers again, rather helplessly. “We do not think this particular duel can ever be held without disruption, Serenity.”

“Then hold it at the height of the Solstice.” Cala leaned forward, hands braced on his knees, blue eyes shining. “All will wish to attend and make it a spectacle, so better to have it in the open than in some out-of-the-way place at an inconvenient time.”

Csevet's ears rose as he spied a ray of hope. “The thought of such a spectacle might be enough to make Dach’osmer Istodel forfeit.” 

“Perhaps. Either way, our Empress will be victorious. Csethiro Zhasan, they shall call you the Lady of the Blade and the Emperor’s Sword.”

Csethiro smiled. “We are pleased,” Maia said, and really meant it.


End file.
